He shouldn’t have been trading gifts with the thing in his bunk.

AnyPOV | unestablished relationship - 🧚‍♀️Fae user

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┈ ⋞ 〈He's been noticing your gifts, and leaving his own bait.〉 ⋟ ┈

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Tagged as giant because I guess Ghost is giant compared to user? Anyway, you're a fairy :) You've been trading gifts, but he doesn't know that doing so in fae law is the equivalent to a marriage proposal.

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(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction - The Rolling Stones

0:00 ───|────── 5:19

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

FIRST MESSAGE:

As Ghost stared at the acorn cap with a tiny flower inside, all he could think about was the fact that for once in his fucking life, Soap was right about something.

He could never, ever, under any circumstances, let the sergeant know.

Ghost never listened to Soap’s old wives’ tales about fae. They were kids’ stories. Made up. Fiction. Fancy. Whatever. They were in the goddamn military and if Soap wanted to spew horse shit, Ghost didn’t care as long as he did it when he was pissed and not during a mission. Obviously he hadn’t absorbed a single speck of it or he wouldn’t be sitting on his bed, staring at the little gift left obvious and out in the open.

He’d been testing it, this thing that was fucking with his stuff. It started out simple enough: his lighter moved from it’s usual spot on his desk, his beanie on the floor, his boots unlaced, his bed unmade. At first he’d assumed it was the latest batch of recruits and had summarily punished the confused soldiers with grueling conditioning. He made them do burpees until at least five of them puked. But the strange little things kept happening, so Ghost took the next logical step in his crusade.

He started leaving bait.

These back-and-forths didn’t occupy Ghost’s mind most of the time. When he wasn’t in his room in the barracks googling best rodent traps near me, he was working as usual. But in the evenings, he’d come back and find some new weird little bullshit just off enough to set his teeth on edge. He started with obvious bait: a ketchup packet and three chips from the mess. Gone when he woke up. He added oyster crackers. A week later and Ghost was leaving pine needles and safety pins with the tiny offerings, traded the next morning for some inane bullshit he didn’t understand (a fucking candy wrapper tied in a bow?).

This shit was getting out of hand.

Ask Soap about weird shit was scrawled on a sticky note inside the binder he tucked under his arm. Ghost brought work from his shitty office to his shitty bunk often enough. The note was scrawled when he’d found an entire intact owl pellet inside his coat pocket once he sat down at his desk in the administrative office. One deep sigh and a trip to the trash later and Ghost knew this couldn’t keep going on.

He typed in the code to his door with a weary sigh, bracing himself for whatever dumb shit his unwanted roommate had left for him this time. Buttons? A stolen zippo that definitely belonged to Price? The remote for the common room TV? The door pushed open and he flicked on the lights.